Clouds commence on the shoulders of giants
Imploring the gatekeepers "bide your time",
Unto the pilgrim approaching the doorstep
A tempest of anguish pitting the mind.
The miser thwarts misery with pocket and penny,
Subtle increases of status and ease.
Tailored with turpentine his image emerges,
An unblemished countenance naively believed.
Though existence be laced with dubiety succession,
Most cling to folly, ignoring the way.
Hopeless and desperate we bear our bent posture,
Unconscionably proud and unwilling to pray.
A path there lies hidden behind a green curtain,
Nurtured for ages by men loyal and blind.
Ardently seeking, their toils turn futile,
For beyond them lies power in peace unconfined.
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